


Tenebrescence

by miscellanium



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh! ARC-V
Genre: Awkward Kissing, F/M, Fingerfucking, First Time, Making Out, Oral Sex, Semi-Public Sex, Trans Female Character, Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-24
Updated: 2015-03-24
Packaged: 2018-03-19 09:25:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3604944
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miscellanium/pseuds/miscellanium
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It hadn’t been a problem before, but lately, in the wake of Professor Marco's warm guiding hands on her waist, Masumi’s found herself worrying more about how little experience she has to offer him. She’s never even kissed anybody— She squashes the thought. There must be a way to get this out of her system.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tenebrescence

**Author's Note:**

> note to trans readers: i don't believe i use any specific names or labels during the sex scene but as always those concerned about triggers should read with discretion.

Whenever the latest test results are posted in Leo Duel School’s main common room, Kotsu Masumi takes her time working her way to the front of the crowd. She knows her results without looking; she’s always the best in her Fusion class but it never hurts to check. This month, though, her score’s dipped a bit. Barely worth noting to anybody else, really, but the Maiami Championship’s coming up and once a flaw breaches the surface of a stone it’s unsalvageable.

Going over last week in her mind Masumi tries to identify the cause, eliminating options until she’s left with the answer she expected but did not want: Professor Marco. It hadn’t been a problem before, but lately, in the wake of his warm guiding hands on her waist, she’s found herself worrying more about how little experience she has to offer him. She’s never even kissed anybody— She squashes the thought. There must be a way to get this out of her system. It’d be weird to ask Yaiba or Hokuto for advice, she thinks as she leaves the common room, because they might be her friends but they’re not _friends_ , yet she can’t just ask some random person—

Just then she hears an obnoxious voice bragging about new rare foil cards; Sawatari Shingo’s down the hallway, holding court over a few bored kids waiting outside a classroom. He might work, she realizes with distaste. If nothing else he of all people should understand.

"Hey," she calls out. "They don’t care. Come here."

Sawatari sputters—of course they care, how could they not care about his perfect cards—but complies, studiously aloof by the time he reaches her.

"I need to ask you something," Masumi says. "Not here. Do you know somewhere private? Not that hideout of yours," she adds as he opens his mouth. "I just want to get this over with."

He runs a hand through his hair and shrugs. “How private do you need? There’s this one stairwell people don’t really use—”

"Good enough. Take me there."

And he does, only because he has nothing better to do. He makes sure to tell her this, voice raised for his long-suffering captive audience, but one cold red stare and he goes silent.

Once they get there, Masumi waits just long enough to make sure she can’t hear anybody coming before saying, “I’m only talking to you about this because you’re the only other trans student I know of.”

Sawatari’s in the middle of sitting beneath the stairs when she says this and he thumps down, looking up at her like she’d tripped him. “What? You’re—”

"Yes. Unlike you, though, I don’t have to deal with any asinine politicians. Anyway," she says, ignoring the way he fumbles for a reply, "Is there any truth to those rumors about you? Because I need to know if it’s any different when you’re with other people."

"What?"

Masumi exhales through her nose, lips pressed as thin as her patience. Sawatari may be a decent strategist (and a better liar, a less kind part of her adds) but pull his plans out from under him and you have a fair chance of breaking him. She raises an eyebrow, waiting for him to catch up, and his grey eyes brighten with a sudden understanding.

"Oh! Oh," he says, drawing out the vowel in that vaguely irritating way of his. "Wait, is this about Professor Marco? Ha, as if you’ve got a chance—"

"I don’t care what you think."

He scoffs and gets to his feet. “Well, _excuse_ me! Then why am I even here, huh?” They glare at each other, Sawatari staring down from his couple extra inches, and it’s he who gives in, looking away with a scowl. “Things aren’t that different,” he says. “It’s the same stuff in the end. So it’s experience you’re worried about, yeah?” As he brings his gaze back to her, eyes narrow and calculating, his hands move towards his belt. “Y’know, if you really want to find out about those rumors—”

"No."

"Okay okay!" He throws his hands up, stepping back. "Just thought I’d offer, since you asked and all! Anyway, for kissing it doesn’t even matter if the other person’s like us or not. You at least know how to do that, right?"

She doesn’t look away but she doesn’t say anything either.

Sawatari crosses his arms, his smirk as theatrical as his gesture. “You telling me Kotsu Masumi the stubborn’s never kissed anyone?” He laughs loud, the sound of it echoing in the empty stairwell.

"Shut up!" Masumi grabs his shirt, other fist at the ready, and he slams his mouth shut quick. But then that curious expression flits across his face again and before she can react he’s touching the back of her hand, fingers circling light across her skin, and the abrupt intimacy of it catches in her throat.

"I wouldn’t mind letting you practice on me. You’re only asking me to help you as a last resort, right? I know what it’s like when you can’t stop thinking about someone."

Letting go of his shirt, she stands there and looks for a tell. His smile seems sincere, though, small as it might be, and really, now that she lets herself think about this, it’s just his personality that’s unattractive. So she lets go of his shirt and grabs his wrist instead, pulling him back under the stairs. He follows easily, anticipating her movements and kneeling in front of her.

They both start forward at the same time so they pause, each watching the other warily. Sawatari stays there until she rolls her eyes and leans in; then he goes to hold her face with both hands, stopping her advance, but closes his eyes and so his kiss lands on her cheek. His lips are soft except for rough patches of skin where he must make a habit of chewing on them, and she realizes his hands are trembling. She shifts, unfolding her legs to push herself up against him and rest her ankles over his, then pulls his hands, hovering awkward in the air, back to the curve of her jaw. He huffs, breath warm on her face, and closes his eyes again. This time he bumps her nose with his, finding her upper lip first before shifting his mouth down.

For a first kiss, it’s…wet. Sawatari’s grip on her face tightens a bit, as does the pressure of his spit-slicked kisses, and a strange prickle rolls its way down her back. But then he’s alternating between pushing his mouth hard against hers or trying to suck on one of her lips and all she can think of is, well, a slobbery dog. She hasn’t closed her eyes, doesn’t see why she should, so when his breath stutters she notices a blush starting at the top of his ears.

Masumi tries to turn her head away but he just follows so she ends up mumbling against his mouth, “Is it always like this?”

He recoils like she’s slapped him. “N-no! I have a, a technique! It must be too advanced for you, since you’re new to this,” he says, cheeks reddening to match his ears.

"Okay." This isn’t his best lie but she lets him keep it. "Then let me try something."

Masumi puts her hands on his shoulders for leverage and rises to her knees, knocking Sawatari onto his rear. There’s no face-holding, just a tilt of the neck and she’s on him, fingers pressing hard into the muscles stretched over his scapula. His eyes, gone wide with surprise, slide shut again as she starts kissing him with their lips slotted in a way that feels more natural to her, not shoving but a gentle push and pull, and leans her weight in until she’s got him flat on the cold vinyl floor. Swinging her legs over his hips in one fluid move she puts a hand on his chest to hold him down and the other on his chin as a guide, like a bridle. She closes her eyes for a moment and when she looks at him again his thick eyebrows are furrowed, his lips slightly parted. She bends down to kiss him again, her hair falling across his face, and he makes a small noise, like a moan—

Masumi pulls back and Sawatari’s gone bright red, staring at the underside of the stairs above them as he wriggles out from beneath her and sits up. He wipes his mouth, barely letting his fingers linger on his philtrum, before looking at her face but not her eyes.

"That was." He has to clear his throat before he can continue. "I think you’ve got the hang of it now. Since you haven’t done this before—" and now he meets her gaze either in challenge or confession, she can’t tell— "You should know that at this point it’s, it’s a good idea to start touching the other person. Lower."

And Sawatari reaches out to her, slow as though he’s waiting for her to slap his hand away, and after a beat Masumi mirrors him. He lays first his fingers then his palm on one of her breasts, testing, but when she does the same on his chest he shrugs her off and shakes his head. Oh—right. She moves her hand down quick to rest on the curve of his waist. He huffs again—like he’s been holding his breath, she realizes—and scoots closer, kneeling again between her legs as he gathers up the blue fabric of her shirt in his hands. Their faces are close enough now to rest their foreheads against each other but she holds back. While he starts caressing her, if it can be called that with his fingertips pressing so light and cautious along the hidden line of her bra or rise of her nipples, she traces slow circles on his sides, raising an eyebrow when he shudders just from this.

He ignores her and expands his range, sliding one hand down her body and using that one to explore her hips, her arm, anything within reach above the waist, so she mimics him, running her hands over first one thigh then the other. With not much else to do, she slips one hand under his shirt and up his back—a sharp gasp hisses warm in her ear. Sawatari’s eyes aren’t quite shut, not yet, but he’s dropped his head down near the crook of her neck and his breath is hitching again. It isn’t really surprising, somehow, and Masumi almost envies him.

Then he’s got a hand under her shorts, between the yellow and the black—

"Don’t do that," she snaps, jerking away. Seeing him left there shamefaced, it occurs to her that tangled up with his superiority complex is a need to be seen as good, a desire to satisfy others. Smoothing out the yellow cloth, she tugs at the black spandex beneath before adding, "Don’t do that kind of thing without asking first. What were you trying to do?"

Sawatari swallows. “Well, if you want to be experienced for Professor Marco….” The sentence hangs there like he’s expecting her to finish it, and when she says nothing he exhales loud through his nose and continues. “I bet he’d want to, y’know, do oral. If you’re not bothered by—”

"Are you asking if you can give me a blowjob?"

And again he just freezes up, recalculations running visible in his eyes, before nodding once. Masumi considers this, their bodies, and says yes. After all she’s enjoying this, the taste of a level of control her stubbornness has not yet won her, and despite all his bluster it seems Sawatari likes being told what to do. She stands, looking down at him, and removes her blue shirt. Before she can slip out of the yellow one-piece, though, her holster needs to go.

She kicks his knee. “Hey, take this off.”

He squints at her but refrains from arguing, reaching out to unbuckle the holster. When he goes to pull the second band down her leg his fingers brush against her inner thighs and a feeling like static electricity sinks into her stomach. She steps out of the holster quick, wriggling out of her clothes until all she’s got on is her bra and underwear. Not ideal, but then she didn’t get dressed with this in mind.

Already breathing heavily, Sawatari sits back on his heels. His face is at just about the right height and he glances up at Masumi from under his bangs when she moves closer, pushing herself against his cheek. Without shifting the underwear he begins mouthing at her, tongue warm through the thin cotton, and slides his hands up her legs to hold tight onto her rear. Then he’s yanking down her panties and she closes her eyes; this at least is difficult to get wrong. These days she no longer gets as hard but even so she can feel herself responding, a heavy heat rising through her body, as Sawatari sucks with increasing enthusiasm, small muffled noises escaping every now and then. It’s starting to devolve into slurping, his swollen lips dragging sloppy along her length and below it, when above them she hears a door open—

Masumi grabs his hair and holds his head still. With his face buried in her crotch Sawatari can’t say anything but as the sound of footsteps starts echoing down the stairwell he stiffens, looking up at her again with panic. The student walks right past their hiding spot without any sign of noticing them, shutting the door behind her with a reverberating slam, and Masumi relaxes her grip on Sawatari’s hair. He starts to pull his head back, a question clear in the line of his brows, but her hand stays firm, keeping him in place, so he just moves a hand between her legs and presses at the tender join—

Everything telescopes to that one point, to his fingertips digging in, and she can think only of his skin hot against hers, of his wet mouth—

Knees buckling, hips stuttering, she curls over him and comes, fingers tangled tight in his hair. His throat works around her as he tries to swallow, choking when he can’t keep up, and he shoves away from her with a wet gasp, unable to stop it dripping down his chin. He keeps gagging and coughing, his face twisted up, and she'd be insulted if she hadn't expected this from him.

Still shaky but mind clearing fast, Masumi turns her back and goes right for her clothes. Once dressed she looks at him, with his hair mussed and his face all flushed, and thinks of a gem in the rough. Well, perhaps that metaphor is overwrought, yet there’s a certain vulnerability in his expression now that she finds herself unable to ignore and he’s done this much for her so she may as well do something in return.

"If you can tell me what you want," she says, "I’ll do it."

Focused on steadying his juddering breath, Sawatari only shakes his head. But then he shifts, pulling his legs together under him, and he mumbles something she does not catch.

"Say that again."

"Will you get me off?" Now he meets her stare, eyes bright with an embarrassed defiance and something else bleeding through, and even if she still doesn’t understand him she feels a growing tenderness—or maybe it’s pity.

Masumi pushes Sawatari down once more and grabs his knees, spreading them wide; between his legs there’s a small patch where the red deepens into burgundy. She touches it, finds it damp, and he turns his face away, breath going shaky again, as she presses her thumb in as far as his trousers will allow. He inhales sharp and loud, angling his hips towards her, but she stops and moves to unzip his trousers and tug them down along with his briefs. Leaving them bunched around his ankles, she kneels by his side and rests a hand on the uncovered curve of dark hair.

"Tell me how to do it."

With his arms crossed over his face it’s a bit difficult to understand him but it sounds like “Just put your fingers in,” and so she does.

It feels a lot like his mouth, is the first thing that pops into Masumi’s mind, the same tight heat and wet friction. She tries crooking her fingers and Sawatari arches his back, moaning quiet into his elbow. A second time and he rolls his hips against her hand, shoving down onto her, and brings down one hand to start rubbing rough at himself. His whimpers are getting clearer, rising in volume, so she takes her free hand and holds it tight over his mouth—it wouldn’t do for them to get caught now, so close to finishing—and he keeps his eyes squeezed shut, barely visible under his arm, as he whines and licks her palm—

Masumi leans heavy on him until she can feel teeth through his lips, a smothered groan purring against her skin, and begins thrusting, going deep—

Gasping through his nose Sawatari goes rigid, straining, like he’d be thrashing if he wasn’t held down. There’s a high-pitched hum starting in his throat and it takes her a second to realize he’s _wailing_ and then he’s coming hard around her, trapping her fingers—

She keeps thrusting, riding him slow through the aftershocks, until he just falls limp on the cold floor and it’s safe to uncover his mouth. As he lies there, panting hoarsely, she wipes her hand on his belly and stands, waiting for him to recover.

When he finally pulls up his trousers Masumi says, “Don’t you dare tell anyone about this.” It comes out a bit harsher than she intends and he stares at her, blush fading, then gives her a brief nod before shoving past her and out the door.

Later, after Professor Marco’s been officially declared missing, Sawatari makes eye contact with her in the halls then looks away.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading. please leave kudos and/or comments if you can, they mean a lot to me


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